34 tlWæv @ ........-... ... ....... ..... ..,. .". ."... -- 1 , J "I_ - "- - - chair is wobbling, Simon," Ashley says. "It's all right." "It's too old to stand on like that-" "I'm sure it's quite reliable." "Would you like me to hold it for you?" "No, please don't get up." "I can't live here forever without lifting a finger." "Y ou can hardly believe you've lived here forever," he says. Her hy- perbole sometimes stings his sense of exactitude. Simon believes that polite- ness is simply one variation of accu- racy. "N 0," she says. "I mean that you shouldn't have to do all the work for both of us." "I do precious little more than I would for myself alone," he says. He tinkers with the light bulb. He is re- luctant to twist it the rest of the way in, fearing that when he does she will get up, disturbing the Lesser Bird of Paradise. He has not had nearly enough time to obser.ve It. He is pleased to see that the curved barbs of the long white tail feathers are utterly free of lice. Snowy, neat, and separate, they fall between Ashley's shoulder blades, brushing the back of her chair. Before she came, he had sighted only blackbirds, sparrows, and an occa- sional night jar or marsh hen-noth- ing that excited his professional inter- est. After Michael had gone, and she had been in the house only two weeks, Simon found ferns unfurling like sea horses from the cracks between the floorboards, al1d brilliant feathers strayed into his pockets. He had re- trieved his old pair of binoculars from the back of a closet shelf, dusted them DAILY . NEWS - - - ....- -... .... . . . -1 .<-- '\.' "- t ..... < ...-.... ( J I . l "'^"'" .t - v . r t- "< i --- '" l ..,. -..-- -.-..- ---0 I-I I!I), f(ew c!t 1'kÐ';1tt':S ê - BLAH BLAH BLAH M' \. \oM W ...' \..A.o'\"-" . - - -vJ\.\oU W\A '" .,.....": . ,;. t , .... .-:.. )" ::- ......,.. '/ - - . o. ::- - , '" .:.... .. 1 .':i- v. - - - - - ,, ..... I -- '" '--v. ICM \c.."-' -- "'41'''110.- - - - =n- - - . . off, and taken to wearing them around his chest, where their cool remembered weight balanced like a second, steadier heart. The Lesser Bird of Paradise's tail feathers flick in agitation. It shifts to keep its balance while Ashley lights a cigarette. Its wings slant forward, the feathers extending in a dovetailed curve. It holds this pose, stiff with ardor or apprehension, within a haze of slowly rising cigarette smoke. "Si- mon, aren't you done yet?" "Done." He dusts his palms against his trousers. "Stay like that, would you?" "Why should I?" "I was thinking what Michael would give to see you like this." "Oh? What would Michael give?" "His right arm," Simon says. "Willingly." "I'm not as sure as you are," she says. "He hasn't written for nearly two months. The last letter he wrote was from Cuzco. He was sitting at a café table, reading 'A Farewell to Arms' and drinking espresso. He said that 'A Farewell to Arms' wasn't as good as he remembered." Simon gives the bulb in its socket a final, extraneous twist, proving-he hopes-his extreme care He intends it as a sort of reproof. Ashley inhales cigarette smoke; the lesson is lost on her. He climbs down from the chair and drops the old bulb into the paper bag below the sink. "1 suppose you think it's silly of me to want to go somewhere in all this snow," she says. "Not necessarily," he says carefully. "A great deal of valuable information was exchanged at faculty parties even in my era." J <fXl- I t is one of their problems: they often begin to apologize at the same moment, and abandon the attempt out of a sort of mutual embarrassment. She twists the cigarette out in a small, vi- olent spiral in the bottom of the ash- tray and sees him watching. "May- be I ought to give up smoking for one of my New Year's resolutions," she says. "Excellent idea." "There's a big difference, you know, Simon. Y ou were famous in your era Of course people courted you and told you things. You and Mc- Pherson discovered the birds of para- dise- " "That's inaccurate, as you very well know." "It must have been extraordinary- to observe their courtship in the rain forest when you knew no one had ever seen anything like that before. Mi- chael thinks you've never qUI te gotten over it." "Michael believes in getting over things. " "And you don't?" "Sometimes not. There are certain things 1 wouldn't want to get over." For a moment, he observes her: the thin shoulder, the shading of the eye- lids, the glimpse of vein in her wrist. The Lesser Bird of Paradise seems frozen on her shoulder; only its golden eye blinks. Ashley lights a second cig- arette, after tapping it against the kitchen table. She does not seem sur- prised to have caught him staring; she simply stares back. Then she rises to turn on the light, and the Lesser Bird of Paradise-startled, the wings dou- bling back toward the body, its nape suddenly dimming into shadow-takes flight, and swerves around a corner of